A Lurlinemas Carol
by fermataoso
Summary: "The boy rocked to his feet, with a deafening clink of chains. They struck together in heavy iron rings that drove a spike of fear into his heart with each resounding clang." Inspired by A Christmas Carol
1. Stave One

AN: I know this has been done, but I just couldn't resist. I hope you like my interpretation, and please let me know what you think.

Stave One:

 **Avaric's Ghost**

Avaric was dead to begin with. There was no doubt whatever about that.

Fiyero had seen his friend and wingman's demise with his own eyes at the hand of a particularly vicious ex-girlfriend. For years Fiyero and Avaric had frequented clubs together, until that fateful night at the Philosophy Club when that redhead (Pfannee was it?) caught him cheating and stabbed him in the stomach with a sharpened stiletto.

It caused quite the stir around Shiz when it happened, no doubt heightened by the very public trial. Pfannee had claimed his cheating drove her to it, and a string of girls had been paraded through the courtroom to bemoan their lousy treatment at the hands of the famed philanderer.

Despite their complaints, Fiyero noted that scores of girls still came wailing to the funeral, dressed in little black cocktail dresses more than mourning garb. In honor of his friend's memory, he collected their phone numbers solemnly for later encounters.

The mention of Avaric's funeral brings us back to the starting point. It must be distinctly understood. Avaric was dead. There was no doubt, whatsoever.

Fiyero never replaced him as a wingman, but then, he hadn't really any need. The scandalacious prince could pick up a nun at church on Sunday. One flip of his shaggy hair, and the girls would all swoon. It had been the kindred spirit in Avaric more than the need for assistance that had brought the two together. While no one could dance through life like Fiyero, his friend sure could manage a mean tango.

Ah, Fiyero Tiggular.

Oh, but he was a gorgeous, thoughtless philanderer. He could fall in and out of bed with girls as oft as change his shoes, and with as little concern for the feelings of either. A heartbreaker, for sure. The mere hint of commitment, or devotion, or, perish the thought, love, and he'd run screaming. He was simply put, not boyfriend material.

But what did Fiyero care? It was the very thing he liked. To breeze through life skirting the edges of…skirts. It was why he both loved and dreaded Lurlinemas. A night of desperation for so many willing women, but one that begged for whispered oaths of devotion rather than anonymous moans in the dark.

It was such that Fiyero often chose to spend the holiday, as much as could be done so, blindingly drunk.

So Lurlinemas Eve found him draped miserably over a park bench in one of Shiz's many courtyards, not entirely certain how he'd found himself there.

"Merry Lurlinemas!" cried a perky voice, and Galinda flounced into view. "You didn't go home for the holidays either?"

"Shh," he clutched his head and closed his eyes against the pounding hangover.

"Goodness, how long have you been out here? You're freezing." She kindly ignored the drool, and possible vomit, speckling his collar. "Come along. We'll get you indoors."

He hadn't the energy to fight her, so he shuffled along beside. This was dangerous, he knew, as he'd recently discovered she believed them to be dating. A fair understanding, as he'd been kind enough to grace her bed more than once despite not being fully rewarded for it.

But he was a scoundrel, and he knew it. So he let her take him back to her hot shower and fluffy pillows. Once the cotton cleared his head, he'd find a way to slip out.

"What's he doing here?"

That grumblesome roommate of hers. Prickly and sharp, and utterly intriguing, he couldn't muster the will to rise to her banter.

"I found him on the bench. He's freezing."

"He's hungover."

"He's listening," he groused. "Any chance I can admit to all charges and just take a shower?"

"Sure," Galinda offered at the same time Elphaba snapped, "Absolutely not."

As usual, he chose to listen to the one he found most pleasant. "Great." He fought with his buttons, tuning out the girls' bickering.

"At least go in the bathroom if you're going to strip!"

Fair enough. He stumbled that direction. Blonde Galinda was adorable, and fun, but that roommate of hers…. He should hate her, as much as she pecked at him. But something about her made him want to do better.

Not that he did.

Still. Surely he'd been good enough to deserve a present this year. Perhaps a green one wrapped in a red bow? And nothing else.

He took a long shower, enjoying the smell of the girls' shampoos.

"Fiyero? Are you alright?"

He slapped the water off and the curtain back. With a towel carelessly flung around his waist, he staggered to the door and wrenched it open. "So whose bed am I sleeping in?"

Elphaba snapped her arms across her chest. "This is what you bring home? Honestly, Galinda."

He bobbed a nod. "Not yours, then." He flopped face first into Galinda's bed, and promptly passed out.

As he surrendered to the fog, he thought he'd seen Avaric's face in the pillow. Odd, and a bit disturbing, it couldn't match the overwhelming desire to not care. So care he didn't, and embraced the darkness.

A flicking at his ears roused him. He groaned and swatted at the hands, but it didn't stop. A voice came by his ear, "Wake up."

He shot out of bed. Not that he wasn't accustomed to whispered nothings, but not of the male variety.

There, lounging against Galinda's bedspread, lay a ghostly incarnation of Avaric, heel in his chest and all. His eyes darted for the girls to confirm this insanity, but he was alone.

"No. I must be asleep."

Avaric smirked, and the familiar sight tugged at him. But he pushed it away. The boy rocked to his feet, with a deafening clink of chains. They struck together in heavy iron rings that drove a spike of fear into his heart with each resounding clang.

"Fiyerooooo." The specter stood free now, and then glanced around the room. "Wait, where are we?"

"Galinda's room."

"The blonde?" For a second, Avaric's features turned wolfish, and he grinned. "Nicely done."

More than anything, that convinced him of his friend's true identity. Fiyero backed up a step, and landed in an undignified heap on Elphaba's bed.

"The roommate, too, huh? Isn't she a little…?" Avaric mimed a flat chest. "I mean, Galinda." He winked, tracing an hourglass figure that clattered his chains together. He shook his head. "No, no. That's why I've come."

"For Galinda?"

"No, kumquat. For you."

"Look man, I'm not really into that." He held up a hand. "I mean, not the dead thing, though, yeah, that, too."

Avaric shook his chains in a roar that echoed through the tiny dorm. Fiyero shrunk back into the pillow. "Do you believe in me?"

"Yeah, sure. Slightly buggery ghost of Avaric past." He'd never seemed that way in life, but perhaps death changed him.

The boy withdrew the heel from his chest with a sickening smack.

"Oz, Av, why are you doing this?"

"It is required of every man to reach out and connect with his fellow men, and women. And if he does it not in life, he is doomed to do so in death."

Then his friend should have been fine. Avaric had done even more…connecting…than even Fiyero had. Once he'd slept with a girl, her best friend and her sister all on the same night. Perhaps at the same time. He'd been a bit hazy on the details. "Why do you have chains?"

"They are the women I chained myself to, and casually cut asunder."

"That's a lot of chains."

"I casually chained many women." He strode closer, and Fiyero pressed back into the wall. "Do you not recognize its pattern?"

"Is it Kumbricia's face? I'm always terrible at these things."

"You've labored on your own. It is a ponderous beauty."

Fiyero's hand crossed his bare chest as if expecting irons draped about. With a start, he realized his towel lay forgotten on the bed opposite. He cupped his groin. Not for his modesty. He hadn't any of that. But he didn't want to tempt his ghostly friend. It seemed uncharitable to taunt him with what he couldn't have.

Avaric caught his inattention, and threw the towel at his face. "For Oz sake, could you pay attention? I'm trying to save your immortal soul."

"Right. Yeah. Sorry." Not that he blamed the boy. He wasn't the first, nor would he likely be the last. Towel wrapped securely again, Fiyero waved the ghost on.

Avaric's pursed lips were not amused. "I have no comfort to give. No rest, no peace. No company save my remorse." His step forward rattled his chains. "Oft I've wished to end my loneliness, but to no end. Oft, I've sat beside you, shouted for you to listen. Why it worked this time, I couldn't say."

"Wait, you've been invisible beside me?" Fiyero tightened his grip on his towel. "Av, mate, that's a little stalkerish."

"No, you idiot!" Avaric's shout echoed in the room, and he flinched. "Don't you understand? You'll have the same fate." Fiyero flatted himself into the wall. "If you don't find some girl to settle down, love, marry-"

"Marry? Why would I get married?'

Avaric sneered at the horror in his voice. "Because you fall in love."

Fiyero openly gawked at him. "Love?"

"If you don't find an anchor for these chains, you'll be left to wander, as I have, lost through eternity."

He shuddered. "But…marriage? Surely there's another way."

"I must go. My time is past. And I fear you're hopeless."

He sagged back. "Well, if you feel that's best."

"You will be haunted by three Spirits."

"What?" Fiyero started up, but shrunk back at the thought of actually touching the ghost. "Avaric, that's not necessary. I understand. I've got to marry some girl."

His friend glared. "Expect the first tomorrow at the toll of one."

"No, really. Find a girl, love her, marry her. See? No need for ghosts."

"Without their visits, you cannot hope to free yourself from my fate."

Fiyero crossed his arms. "Fine. Can't they all come together and get it over with?"

"Expect the second at the same hour the next day. And the third upon the next night, before the clock chimes twelve."

"Three days?" he whined. "Can I at least be drunk?" If he meant one in the morning, he might be anyway. Well, one in the afternoon, too, really.

"Remember what I've said. For your own sake. I'll not return."

Thank goodness for that at least.

As he watched, Avaric drifted to the window, where phantoms filled the air, wandering with a restless moan and loosely chained like his friend. Avaric joined the eerie dirge, and the host faded into a dreary mist.

He watched the sky for a bit after they left, unsettled by the encounter.

Then he turned back to room.

"Odd." He shrugged, and with a shot from his hip flask, plopped back against Elphaba's pillows. He'd sleep into tomorrow. If he had to take extra lessons, and ghostly ones at that, he should at least be allowed to neglect his current ones.


	2. Stave Two

AN: Thank you for reading, and especially those that took the time to review. I'm trying to do better about that myself. I appreciate the comments, and I hope you all enjoy the next chapter.

Stave Two:

 **The First of the Three Spirits**

"Wake up." Again?

Fieyro cracked his bleary eyes open, and groaned at the blur of green mixed with sharp eyes. "Are you a ghost, too?"

"The ghost of Kumbricia," she growled at him.

He jerked away with a less than manly shout, his sweat-drenched muscles too weary effectively reach safety. She flicked his forehead and rolled her eyes.

"It's Elphaba, you idiot. You're in my bed."

"Sorry." He rubbed a heavy hand over his face. "Any chance you'll marry me?"

She leaned close and squinted at him. "Have you gone insane?" The lack of sarcasm in her tone struck him as offensive, and he pouted. He shook his head, instantly regretting the way it pulverized his brain. Satisfied, she pulled back. "Okay, then, out of my bed."

"So if I'm crazy I can stay?"

She smiled and patted his cheek. "No. Out."

He shuffled up, and her face flushed.

"What?" He glanced down to check that his towel had stayed in place. Even ghost Avaric wouldn't be able to see any less than public anatomy.

"Why are you-you know what? Never mind. Out."

She rushed him to the door, pausing only to scoop up his pile of alcohol-soaked clothes from the previous night. "Sweet dreams."

She slammed the door in his face, and he sighed. He rapped on the door.

"What?" she called through the door.

"Can I have my shoes?"

A pause, then she cracked the door to toss them out.

"Want your towel back?"

She narrowed her eyes. "And if I say yes?"

He slipped the towel from his hips, and she slammed the door with a strangled yelp.

"Fiyero! What is the matter with you?" Worth it for the look on her face. "Go away. I have to go scald my eyes."

"So I'm the last thing you see? How sweet."

A thud was the only answer. After a moment, he scooped up his clothes and started the cold trek back to his dorm.

By the time he crawled into his covers, freezing and very un-lubricated, he had almost forgotten the nightmare's threat in light of the very real danger of frostbite. He was very attached to his extremities, after all.

Surely it had been a dream. And dreams didn't send ghosts chasing after you. Though, just in case, perhaps he should spare the booze tonight.

A shot of whiskey to warm up, and that's all. Or two. He was pretty cold.

"There you are. You look awful. Where you been all day?"

Mirq, from three doors down, plopped beside him with a bottle in hand. "Go away."

"If you didn't want company, should have locked your door."

Fiyero glared with the eye not pressed into his pillow. Hard to argue that logic. He held out a hand for the bottle. "For the record, I'm not into dead guys. In case, you know, anyone's around that cares."

Xxxxx

Ding! Ding! Ding! Dong!

He bolted up. Where was he? The wrong gender passed out beside him might be worrisome, but with a closer look, he recognized his own bed.

"Perhaps it'd be more familiar if you'd slept here more often."

He spun to face the voice, and tripped in his own sheets. "Who are you?"

A strange figure, not quite male or female, stood at the foot of his bed, reflecting white though its ethereal light fluttered in and out of focus. Or was that his eyes? He rubbed them as the figure eyed him. "I am the Spirit whose coming was foretold. I am the Ghost of Lurlinemas Past."

"It's…the next day?" Well, that wasn't all that unusual for him, sadly.

The spirit casually picked up the bottle, with a backward glance at him, and set it down without a word. Yeah, yeah, he drank too much. Fiyero had heard that for longer than he'd known what a liver did. "You know, I don't need a ghost. I already got the message."

"You must suffer these visits if you have a hope of reclamation."

"Nope, got it. I'll just marry Galinda. She'd be willing I'm sure. Probably planning our wedding already anyway."

The ghost ignored him. It strode to the window with a large step over his sleeping friend. "Come."

Fiyero followed. "Really, it's all sorted. If she's a problem, there's plenty more fish in the sea, but I don't see how she would be."

"My hand."

"Is that some sort of ghostly curse word?"

The ghost clasped his hand with a sigh. "You do try the patience." It almost sounded like Elphaba, the way he said it, and Fiyero couldn't help the smile. "Come. We have much to see."

At the windowsill, it slid out into the air, and he balked at following it. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be impertinent. Please don't kill me."

"You won't fall."

He looked down. "I beg to differ."

It offered no further comfort, but hauled him through into the open air. He clasped on the hand frantically, terrified. The ground stayed below, but Oz, he just dangled there, like a damn feather on the wind. "You're trembling," the Spirit observed, though it was difficult to hear over his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"You think?!"

Mist surrounded them, humid and dense as the night before, but far more terrifying now that he floated through those woeful moans. The Spirit seemed unperturbed. "Bear you no faith in your past?"

"I'd have more faith in the ground." He shut his eyes. Denial had always been a good friend of his.

Soon the moans faded, and he felt a solid surface under his feet. He let go and opened his eyes.

"Remind me not to book you as a travel agent."

A faded stone castle outlined by bold mountains against a backdrop of blue so intense it made the sand seem almost orange. Home.

The warmth flooded through him, and not just physically. He hadn't realized how badly he'd missed home until he stood at its doors. But Kiamo Ko had been his family's home in his youth. They lived in bustling Kala Hrad near the Thousand Year Grasslands now.

Oz, it looked just as he remembered it, down to the chipped archway from his unfortunate attempt to make fireworks. The crisp smell of his mother's azaleas struck him with a thousand long-forgotten memories. When had he seen her last?

The Spirit led him forward, its light beaming more brightly now despite the blaring sun. "You know this place?"

"I do." Even still, he knew every rock, every hiding place. "But I haven't thought of this place in ages." His fingers trailed along the warm rock fence. "Isn't it abandoned?" But the festive tree and lights begged to differ.

"Yero! Mama says you'd better get your buns in here, or you're in trouble!"

He jerked toward the voice. His kid sister flung out toward the gardens in the back where Fiyero had spent much of his early youth climbing tree branches. He barked a laugh. "Is that Rai? She's in pigtails."

He trailed after with his Spirit escort. "Well, she is nine, after all."

"Nine? No, she's-"

"Go away," his own voice called from the shadows, an adolescent crack breaking in. He froze mid-step, eyes wide. How? "I mean it, get lost."

"Okay, that's disturbing. Am I having one of those out-of-body experiences? I've finally drunken myself into a coma, or something?"

The Spirit indulged him in a smile. "Or something."

"Ah, Lurlinemas Past, huh? Well, you live up to the name, alright."

"Mama says…oh. Who's she?"

"Nobody." His younger self finally emerged from the vines, and he winced at the fashion he'd once considered attractive. "Go on. Get out of here. And you'd better not tell Mom and Dad anything."

"They'll be mad," she groused. He shrugged with an artful drape of his floppy hair. Ah, yes. He'd forgotten that particular affect of his younger years. Had he always looked that ridiculous?

"You're right, I should have many regrets." He elbowed the Spirit. "But then, I think everyone regrets skinny pants."

The Spirit glanced down at him and lifted an eyebrow.

He pursed his lips. "These fit perfectly, thank you very much."

"If you say so. Might want to be careful on the Lurlinemas treats, just the same." The Spirit patted Fiyero's stomach, and strode closer to the hideaway.

His younger self had managed to maneuver Rai back toward the house a few steps. "Fine, but you're telling, not me."

"Now. Or else!"

She tottered toward the house, and he turned back to the vines.

"So where were we?"

The girl tittered. "Here?" She slid closer, pressing an inexperienced kiss that at the time had been the most impressive experience of his life.

"Or do you mean, here?" He slid a hand up her thigh with all the confidence of the experience he didn't have. She swooned against him, and he grinned foolishly.

The innocence in their expressions struck him with an odd sense of nostalgia. He remembered that girl vaguely. She'd been his first. His heart pounding, he'd pretended to be a great lover, and she'd fallen hook, line and sinker.

"Are you sure this isn't too fast?"

No. He'd been a mess of insecurity. But boys slept with girls. They seduced; they didn't romance.

His younger self flopped his ridiculous hair again. "If you think so. But you can't expect me to wait around to swim while you decide if you want to dip your toe in."

The line took him by surprise. He didn't remember it that way.

The girl's face fell, and for a second he wanted to slap the boy. But in a split second, her smile beamed bright. "No, of course. I was kidding. I want to, too."

The idiotic kid didn't see her hesitation, or didn't care. He was in such a hurry to grow up, he hadn't considered that someone wouldn't want to. The young lovers kissed, and more, and Fiyero's stomach clenched.

He'd never considered his adorable antics and harmless philandering anything like those disgusting men that preyed on women. They deceived and abused. He spread joy and pleasure. Surely he wasn't like them, was he?

"Are you sure?"

The words brought a beam of hope. The girl met his eyes. "I'm sure."

His younger self floundered around, and in a few fumbly minutes, it was all over. Fiyero expected her to cry, but she relaxed in the boy's arms.

"That wasn't so bad."

"Thanks?"

"No, I mean, you were great." She kissed him, soft and long. They held a sweet gaze that restored some of his faith in himself.

Then the boy sat up and ruffled his hair again. "Thanks. Tell your friends."

Moron. He hadn't meant it. He just hadn't known how to handle it. It hadn't been this great, dramatic moment after all. Just a fumbling, confusing mess.

Had he really been this young? This uncertain? Maybe he should have waited after all. He'd been in such a hurry to catch up, and his friends hadn't even had sex anyway.

The Spirit said nothing, but offered a hand.

"The girl? Did she regret it?"

"Are you sure you want the honest answer?" At his nod, it continued, "She did, but not her choice in you, any more than you regret choosing her."

"Alright, where to next, Spirit?"

Fiyero clasped the Spirit's hand, and the air swirled heavily around him. The scent of perfume was unmistakeable, but in light of the last encounter, he'd expected her sooner or later.

"Sarima."


	3. Stave Two Cont

Sarima.

Her beautiful, tilted eyes still yanked his heartstrings, and though he hated himself for it, he still danced to her tune. He was her puppet, a wooden marionette with his smile painted right on. Young and beautiful, she swayed toward him. "Fiyero."

He backed up, eyes wide. No. She saw him? If she touched him, he'd be finished.

But she continued past. "Will you never learn?"

It seemed not.

No. He steeled himself. He would. He wouldn't dance anymore.

"Lilies, lover. I prefer sunburst ones, but I'm forgiving."

She sashayed with that hypnotic hip swing that always made him lose his train of thought. The air around her felt heavier, steamed with sex. No fumbling in the dark with her. She'd given him the only lessons he'd really taken seriously.

Maybe his pants were too tight, after all.

"You remember this day?"

He turned to the Spirit, and lied, "Vaguely."

His younger version appeared, and he breathed a sigh of relief that the floppy, overdone hair had been trimmed. "But roses mean passion, darling, and I'm very passionate about you." The boy kissed her hand with a debonair wink. "And they match the holiday decorations. I would so hate to cause clashing in your interior decor."

She tilted her neck, and he took the permission to let his lips travel. By the time he reached her mouth, she'd adopted a lovestruck gaze. For this vantage point, her deception seemed so obvious. He wanted to scream at his younger self, but it would do no good, even if he could hear. Sarima might as well leash and collar him.

"Where is my ring, sweet prince?"

The boy rubbed the back of his neck. "Ring? Do you mean the emerald? It's missing?"

She gave him a look. "You know which ring I mean."

"Any day, love. Wouldn't you rather it be a surprise when?" He went back to her neck, and she tolerated his advances with a soft smile. "Princess Sarima has a nice ring to it, on its own, doesn't it?"

"Yes, lover, but the other comes first."

"Soon." His fingers slipped through her hair.

"Soon," she repeated, winding her arms around him. His hands fell to her dress, working on the laces. The soft clop of steps beyond the door stayed his hands.

Fiyero clenched his fists. "Mariq," he whispered, though the others couldn't hear anyway."

His younger self broke away to clasp the other boy's hand. "You've terrible timing, mate, but I need to speak with you."

The boy's eyes flicked to Sarima. "About?"

"No, not that. _That's_ a surprise." He tossed her an exaggerated wink. "About that essay for Literature Studies. Sarima says you can get me a ghostwriter?"

He shrugged. "If you'd like."

"That's great!" Fiyero wanted to slap his younger self again. That damn essay would get him expelled, beginning his string of academic disappointments.

"Got any absinthe?"

Sarima draped herself on his arm. "Not for you, he hasn't."

"Now, dear, there's plenty for all three of us."

From there the night grew hazy, a dim fog of green liquid drenching his memories. They danced, they sang, they howled at the moon. But most of all, they drank.

He remembered foolishly wishing that his best friend and girlfriend would get along better. Then he remembered wishing his girlfriend were naked, which didn't leave much room for Mariq. He'd sent the boy for more refreshments and set about seducing Sarima.

The coy beauty wrapped him around her little finger as securely as he wrapped her around his…well, not finger. "Yero, I worry that without that ring, I'm just another conquest. Swear to me I'm more."

"You are," he panted. Her fingers tugged his sweaty hair into points as she worked her body over him. "Oz, you're everything."

She pulled back, and he gasped after her. "Then prove it. Marry me."

"I told you. I will."

"When?"

He nearly growled in frustration. "Do you want me to call in a cleric now? We can have wedding and honeymoon at once."

She pouted, but she let him pull her back to him. "You really have a ring for me?"

"I do."

"Here?"

He flopped back to stare at her. "Oz, woman, you're killing my buzz. I thought girls wanted the romance and glamour and pretty story."

"I've waited for the pretty story for months," she tossed back, eyes flashing. "Give me the ring, and I'll make up the story."

He frowned. "Why are you so adamant about now?"

She softened, and he recognized now that it was to save his suspicion. "I'm not. I'm impatient. I want to be your wife. To love you." She pressed a kiss to his lips. "To honor you." Another kiss, as she settled her body back on his lap. "To obey you." She starting moving over him, and his head fell back.

"Obey?" He laughed. "Like a fox obeys the mouse."

She twined her arms around his neck, her breasts pressed lightly into him. "To worship you, my husband."

"Mm, that does sound nice."

She kissed him softly. "Fine, I'll wait for a pretty story. To please you. I do so enjoy pleasing you."

He kissed her. "Likewise, sweetheart."

They finished before Mariq returned, and Fiyero slipped off to the bathroom. He unearthed the ring hidden in the false bottom of his cologne. That should have been his first clue. He hadn't trusted her not to snoop.

He shouldn't have trusted her at all.

Fiyero shook his head, remembering so clearly how he'd felt. Such a fool.

How surprised she would be, now that they'd talked it over. Her wishes came first, and if she didn't want to wait, well, he'd just have to make it romantic now. He'd already made his peace with it anyway. Engaged didn't mean married. He'd have time to…adjust.

He pocketed the ring. Oz, her face would light up when she saw it. He should probably talk her back into her clothes first.

The fool grinned as he swung open the door – to see her straddling Mariq just as she had him not an hour before. His best friend. Numb, he watched her kiss him, and his friend return it with a familiarity that ripped Fiyero apart.

"We shouldn't. He could come back any second."

"No, he won't." She moved to his neck. "He always showers after."

"After," Mariq sneered. "You smell like him."

"Oh, don't be jealous. I love you."

"Yet you marry him?"

She slipped back with an arched eyebrow. "Are you a prince now? Then be happy for me and enjoy what we have while we have it."

Shock kept his younger self frozen, but world-weary Fiyero strode across to her. "You witch. To think all the energy wasted on you. Shallow and fickle and as worthless as fools' gold."

"The glittering diamond may shine as bright, but a rock can't warm like a fire."

Fiyero's head snapped toward the Spirit. "Proverbs? You offer proverbs?" He strode away from the scene, unable to watch the heartbreak on his own face. "Aren't you trying to convince me of the need for marriage? This was a poor choice."

"In women, yes. A good wife is the key to a happy marriage."

"No such thing."

The Spirit tilted its head. "Have you the experience to make such a claim?"

"I've plenty of experience with women." He pasted on a flippant smile. "Isn't that why we're here?"

"So you hate women, then."

"No." He frowned, taken aback. "Of course not."

"But you want to use them before they can use you."

The words struck closer than he'd like, and he stepped back. "I prefer we use each other honestly."

"And marriage is dishonest?"

His laugh came out colder than he intended. "You think it's not? That people want to sleep with the same person, day in and day out, forever? That's not just dishonest, it self-delusion."

"So you're afraid no one will want you forever?"

"Want this?" He waved his hand over himself with an exaggerated leer. "I'm hardly concerned."

"Do you feel you deserve a happy future?"

The question took Fiyero by surprise again. "Doesn't everyone?"

"Does she?"

A stab of hateful fury sliced through him. He wanted to say yes, prove the ghost wrong, but he couldn't. His eyes found the doorway. "I never used anyone like that."

The Spirit lifted an eyebrow.

"Well, on purpose."

Again, a politely incredulous expression. The Spirit held out its hand.

The scene shifted quickly to him with Galinda, clearly leading her on as she pawned Boq off on Nessa. Then the girl from the other morning, waking up alone. Then another girl from the bar. And another. And another. An unending stream of broken-hearted conquests.

"Spirit, show me no more." He flung a hand over his eyes. "If I'm so despicable, why bother with me then?"

The air changed.

"Do you think I want to care this much?"

His eyes snapped open.

She stood in front of him, her green skin glowing in the sun with the lion cub cowering in its cage at her feet. She flung her arms out, "Don't you know how much easier my life would be if I didn't?"

He drew closer, fighting a strong urge to cup her cheek. "Do you ever let anyone else talk?" he asked fondly. A better way to shut her up flashed through his thoughts, and he jerked back.

"Oh, sorry." He couldn't explain his attraction to her, wild and hostile and thoroughly unique. Free, in ways that his carefree attitude only hoped to copy. "But can I just say one more thing? You could have just walked away back there."

"So?"

"So, no matter how shallow and self-absorbed you pretend to be-"

"Excuse me, there's no pretense here." He flashed a winning smile. "I happen to be genuinely self-absorbed and deeply shallow."

"No, you're not. Or you wouldn't be so unhappy."

Oz, like she saw right into his soul. It terrified him. He'd looked at her, and she'd really looked back. It rocked him, and like the coward he was, he'd run. And he'd drunk.

Watching that spark, her lips so close, he wished he weren't the coward he'd let himself become.

But he was. So when the Spirit returned him to his room, he handled it as he had before – he drank himself into a stupor and passed out.

Better to fight off the dreams he couldn't face.

He would only hurt her, too.


	4. Stave Three

AN: Happy Christmas Eve! Sorry for the long chapter, but it wouldn't divide well. Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think.

Stave Three:

The Second of the Three Spirits

Ding! Ding! Ding! Dong!

Fiyero jerked up at the bell. His own bed - two nights in a row! A night of rest and a half-bottle of whiskey had done their work, and he found himself quite remedied of the bitter melancholy the last ghost had wrought.

Sarima was gone. Long forgotten. Whatever this ghost sought to visit on him, he would forget as well. They'd miscalculated, already pressing his most disastrous affair on the first night. It could only get easier.

The bell rang again, the quarter hour.

He rose and splashed water over his face. "Time for another ghost." Considerate, this one was, to let him wake up a bit first. He dressed.

A beam of light on the clock reflected half past. Well, he wasn't known for his punctuality, either.

Three quarters came, but no ghost.

Then the hour of two. His good humor sullied. Was this ghost invisible?

"Spirit?" he chanced, but no response.

Having been visited by two ghosts already, he found it oddly disturbing not to meet the third.

Had he missed it? Should he go back to sleep and content himself with becoming a miserable ghost someday? Or marry Galinda and hope that would work? The Spirit last night hadn't been very convinced of his plan.

He moped in the dark, lit only by that crack of light from the hallway. Wait, light? The hallways should be dark at this hour. He clapped a hand to his head. Brainless fool.

He peeked past the door, and sure enough, a large, jolly man lounged against the bench at the end of the hall.

The dorm was unrecognizable under all the decorations. Mistletoe, holly and ivy spotted the garlands carpeting every surface such that it might be a fairy forest. Wreaths hung with sparkling ornaments that glittered in the firelight. One such wreath adorned the man's head like an angel's halo, crowning a spill of curls that would make even Galinda jealous.

The ghost laughed, and it resounded down the hall like a cannon shot.

"Come, boy. You look like you've seen a ghost."

Fiyero's forehead scrunched together, and earned another joyous boom.

"I am the Ghost of Lurlinemas Present. You have never seen the like of me before!"

An arrogant statement, but a true one. His wide, handsome face wore a broad smile that commanded one in return. The man exuded joy, and compelled it in return.

"Or would you prefer my girls?"

How did no doors fly open at the echoing voice? But any worries of interruption short-circuited from his brain as a half-dozen beautiful women emerged from behind the ghost. Blondes, brunettes, redheads, all stunning and all barely dressed.

"Holly, his slippers." Her name fitted well with the plant strategically draped around her. She and a blonde knelt before him. With gentle caresses, they slid on his shoes. "Thank you, Charity. Are they not a sight to behold?"

That they were.

The girls surrounded him, fingers disheveling his clothes as much as straightening them. They must've felt half-frozen, but their skin was warm where it 'accidentally' pressed him. Flustered, he ignored their ministrations. Until one of the girls brushed a little too close to his, ahem, Lurlinemas tree, and he jerked away. "Lead on, Spirit. No doubt we've much to see, and little time to see it in."

"Just so," the ghost rose to his feet. "A surprisingly willing attitude. Refreshing. Though a bit of persuasion can be enjoyable as well." He winked, and Fiyero pulled his cloak tighter.

"The sooner we start, the sooner it's ended."

"So eager?" The ghost smirked. "Very well. Touch my robe."

Fiyero did as he was told, and held it fast.

The inertia of the train rocked him, and he had to grip the ghost's arm to keep his feet. Elphaba looked up from her book, but back down almost as fast.

Elphaba? She was on a train? Oh, headed home for the holidays, no doubt.

"A pretty one. Perhaps I should recruit her." The Spirit's eyes ran over her appreciatively, and Fiyero shifted slightly to stand between. "She would follow my color scheme well. Imagine her draped in nothing but ivy and mistletoe."

He could, far too well.

The door slid open, and Galinda bounded into the seat opposite. The Spirit grinned, and Fiyero wanted to deck the man. The licentious creep. These were his friends. Only he could objectify them.

"You're sure you want to visit home?" She fussed with her skirts. "I know you miss your sister, but I hate to think of the rest of your break, so bleak and miserable."

"I've not much choice. I come voluntarily, or when the bills stop getting paid."

She tutted and nudged Elphaba's book. "Be serious. Will you be alright?"

"Of course, my pretty. You know me."

"Hence the question."

Elphaba set the book beside her. "He's nothing like that. A little preaching will be the worst of it. And you? However did your parents celebrate Lurlinemas without their star?"

"They didn't." She waved a hand. "We'll celebrate it tonight."

"Then who gave you that sparkly bracelet? I thought Fiyero gave you perfume." He had. The ultimate gift for girlfriend or grandma, he prided himself on its universality.

"This?" She held up her arm, barely holding back a grin. "Oh, Biq, I think."

Elphaba shot her a look. "You know his name. I know you do." Red tinted her friend's cheeks. "I told you he likes you."

"Well, of course he admirates me. Many of the boys do."

Another look. "You might fool your shallow little circle of hens, but you can't cluck me into confusion." Galinda found the countryside suddenly interesting. "You can be friends with a boy, you know."

"Like you and Fiyero?"

He leaned forward to hear her answer. Not that he cared, really, just idle curiosity. She nodded. He watched her face carefully, but she kept it so perfectly neutral. "Though perhaps with less eye rolling."

"You don't think Dearest would mind?"

Elphaba picked up her book. "What's in that boy's head, if anything, is a mystery to me." He huffed a laugh. He should be so lucky. "But no, I don't imagine he'd mind."

Galinda's face lit up, and she fingered the bracelet. "Oh, then I suppose it would only be goodly of me to befriend Boq."

"Quite." Conversation lagged as her roommate returned to her book. Galinda slipped a package from her bag and stared at the wrapping a beat. She moved to sit beside her friend.

The girl looked up, and Galinda half-shoved the bundle of ribbons at her. He didn't understand their sudden tension, or the babbled, "I know my last present was a disaster, and so I've hesitated with another."

"I don't think-"

"But you're my bestest friend," she continued firmly. "You're getting a gift for Lurlinemas. No discussion."

Elphaba's expression softened. "But I haven't anything for you."

"You have." Galinda squeezed her hand. "Trust me, you have."

Her roommate turned the package over in her hands. "Let me guess: pink and glittery?"

She stuck out her tongue.

"Open it." The girl did, and he expected clothing, or makeup, or maybe a book. Not a cheap touristy snow globe and map for the Emerald City. And he certainly didn't expect the emotion in Elphaba's eyes. "For when you get there."

The girls hugged tightly, and she pulled back to stare at it. "You think I will?"

"I know so." They clasped hands, radiating with such affection it stung him for his intrusion. "Do you like it, really?"

Elphaba tipped the globe, whose snow was even green. "I love it. Thank you."

"Good." She sagged back against the bench. "I worked really hard on it. I wanted your first Lurlinemas present to be perfect."

He frowned. "But surely she's had others."

The spirit didn't reply.

"I noticed. Nothing at all pink. No one will believe it's from you."

"About that." She gave a sheepish grin. "A first present definitely deserves a companion."

"No, she must mean the first from _her_." The spirit held out his arm, and Fiyero took it. The mist swirled round them. "Surely her family celebrates Lurlinemas. Isn't her father a minister?"

"Does it matter? Unless you mean her first present to give." The suggestive wink disgusted him, and he yanked back. He lost his grip. With a manly squeak, he clutched at the sleeve. Who knows that would happen to him if he were separated in this odd mist? "Alright, boy? Have I offended?"

"Yes, in fact. You needn't ogle every woman in sight."

"She isn't worth ogling? Or do you mean her coloring makes her unworthy?"

"No, of course not. She's very oglable." He swallowed. "I just mean, it would bother her. It's disrespectful."

"But only because it bothers her."

Fiyero nodded, though something troubled him about it still.

The ghost clapped his hands together. "Wonderful! So long as she never knows, she'll never be bothered, and I'll remain free to ogle. Shall we?"

"No! That's not right."

"Oh, yes, this is precisely the right place."

Fiyero suspected it deliberate misunderstanding, but as the discussion had quite unnerved him, he played along. They found themselves in a sparsely decorated home. Boq's girlfriend, Nessa or something, wheeled around lighting small candles.

"Why are we here?" He'd barely spoken to the girl, maybe a handful of times. She hadn't been in his bed, of that he was certain. Was this another chance for the spirit to ogle the unogled and spread Lurlinemas leer?

A tall, forbidding man strode in, and Fiyero automatically backed up. The stern frown, grey hair, and somber dress completed an austere manner that reeked of authority. A hard man. One not to be taunted. To be sidestepped, certainly, but not outright defied.

The man saw Boq's girlfriend, and his frown relaxed into an obviously fond expression. "Prayers for the day, my dear?"

"Yes, Father. And for Fabala."

"You are a credit to your gender." He sat in a wicker rocking chair by a lamp, and she wheeled beside him. With a twinkle in his eye, he reached down, and produced a package from under his book.

"Oh, Papa!" She clapped her hands together. "We should wait for Fabala, though, to open presents."

"Nonsense. It won't be her birthday."

She pressed her lips together. "It's not my birthday for a month." He quirked a smile. "Alright, fine. But no more without her."

"It's your birthday, dear, however you'd wish."

She rolled her eyes, and Fiyero leaned closer, her familiarity bothering him. Had he spent more time with them than he remembered? Boq wasn't a close friend, and his girlfriend even less so.

"Oh, they're lovely!" She played with the simple earrings, letting them catch the light. "I would put them on but," she touched a hand to her ears, "dearest Boq gave me these."

"Already fending off gentleman callers?" He patted her arm, but then his face grew cold. "So long as-"

"Yes, Father, I know. We are chaste, of course, out of respect for the Unnamed God and you."

"And yourself."

She absorbed the sudden harshness with a correspondingly soothing tone. "Naturally."

Satisfied, he nodded. "Then you are to be commended, and this gentleman of yours as well. He must be well-intentioned to bestow such a charming gift."

Her face lit up. "I think so as well, though he's yet to say specifically."

Fiyero turned to the spirit. "I see. So Boq is the good boyfriend, and I the poor one? Well, perhaps you shouldn't have shown me his gift to Galinda. I've no eye for jewelry, but anyone can see the difference."

"Oh?" The ghost seemed very smug for someone just proven wrong. "Isn't that interesting?"

"Fabala!"

Nessa's joy at the door opening disrupted his answer, and he turned to see a familiar face by the door.

"Elphaba? What is she doing here?" Though as he thought of it, she did mention a sister. Perhaps that's the familiarity that had bothered him.

She stepped in, unwrapping a bright pink scarf to hang it by the door. Neither snowglobe nor map were apparent, but she held her bag with more care than usual.

"What is that atrocity?" The man grumbled from his seat. "Such bright colors scream of vanity."

She gave a sarcastic glance down at herself. "Hasn't caused any yet. Or do you think me a stranger to strong colors?"

He glared, but Nessa intervened. "Papa, please. She's barely in the door." She turned to Elphaba. "Is that from Galinda?"

"How'd you guess?"

They smirked, but her father rocked to his feet. "A Lurlinemas present?"

With a heavy sigh, she turned to face him. "Because I control what presents are given to me."

"You could have refused. It would offer a perfect introduction to discuss our faith. Does she know you're Unionist at all?"

Nessa caught her hand, trying to reign her in, but she barreled on. "She doesn't, because I'm not. When will you accept that?"

"When will you repent these willful rebellions?"

She crossed her arms. "Not today." She cast an eye about the room. "And not so long as you're hypocritical enough to suggest you _don't_ celebrate Lurlinemas."

"How dare you. We don't."

"Yes, except for the decorations, and the presents, and-"

"Those presents are for your sister's birthday, and you know it."

She huffed a laugh free of mirth. "That's a handy excuse to avoid getting me one, but you needn't bother. I don't want your presents any more than your religion."

"Get out!"

She reclaimed her scarf without complaint, but Nessa's cry caused them both to hesitate. Near tears, she pleaded with them both, "Can't you get along for one day? For me?"

Her father shifted back, clearly melting at the girl's distress, but it was Elphaba who caved first. "Of course, my pretty. I'm sorry."

Their father gave a small nod. "Accepted."

Her flicker of annoyance passed in a breath. The apology had been for her sister. Even Fiyero saw that. But she chose silence.

The man made an excuse about dinner, and left the two sisters alone. Elphaba's shoulders deflated. "I _am_ sorry. I shouldn't rise to the bait. I don't know why I bothered with the trip."

Nessa took her hand. "Because you love me."

The fond expression warmed her handsome face into captivating beauty. "That I do, precious, that I do."

"Please don't fight with Papa. It's only a few days."

She sighed heavily. "I'll try to mind my tongue, for your sake, but you know I've no talent there."

"Perhaps she'd like some tutoring. I'd mind her tongue quite nicely, I think," the ghost supplied, and Fiyero spun on him.

"For Oz's sake, have you no decency? She's not a piece of meat. She's a person. Look at what she's been through! As if the prejudice for her skin wasn't enough. How could you demean her further?"

"Is it demeaning? I thought it complimentary."

He narrowed his eyes. "You didn't. A compliment isn't so…debasing."

"Oh, it's a jest. Lighten up."

"That doesn't excuse it."

The spirit didn't respond. Slowly, it dawned on him that he'd been manipulated. He crossed his arms. "Yes, alright, I see. I've been a resounding ass. I won't treat women so callously again. Can we go back?"

"One more stop."

Much as he despised it, he took the ghost's arm. The mist swirled on the pitiful scene, and he found himself in a dark room, alone again. Or so it seemed.

Softly, he could hear a girl crying. A cold chill amplified an aura of misery, and he sent a silent prayer that he wouldn't find Elphaba here again. This heartbreaking sound from her might completely undo him.

He edged toward the girl, folded in shadows. He couldn't see her face. It didn't seem like Elphaba, but he couldn't be sure. Not with this ghost's fixation on her.

A broken sob shuddered silently through the girl, and he set a hand on her shoulder that didn't connect. So alone. How he wished he could comfort her.

"What's the matter?" he whispered, though she couldn't hear.

The spirit circled to her other side. "Do you know her?"

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"Then what do you care?"

He knelt beside her. "Because I do." His hand hovered by her, his own eyes pricking with sympathy. "Is there nothing we can do for her?"

She shifted toward him, as if she felt his presence somehow, and he hoped it gave her some comfort.

The clouds beyond shifted, and dull moonlight diffused through the window. The girl from yesterday, or whichever. The bed he'd woken up in last that wasn't his. Or Elphaba's. Or Galinda's. Oz, he woke up in too many beds.

She eyed the moon. "Should I tell him?" she whispered.

He froze. Did she mean him? What would she tell him that would cause her this much misery?

Her hand fell to her stomach, and she drew a shuddering breath. "I suppose he deserves to know."

The blood drained from his face. He stepped back, a hand going involuntarily to drag through his hair. "Does she mean…is she…?"

"Pregnant?" The spirit moved beside him. "I believe so."

"With mine? How could it, but, it's only been a few days?"

"This time."

His eyebrows pulled down like they could hide him. What did that mean? No, they'd met in a bar. He didn't know her. But then, drunk as he'd been, would he have recognized her? Oz, he barely recognized her now.

"It can't be."

"Ah, the winds of change," the ghost said, taking his arm. "Ever a surprise despite their forecast."

The mist swirled around him, and he turned back. "Wait, we can't leave now. I don't know her plans, anything about her. How do I find her?"

"That is beyond my realm, boy. The questions you seek are not of the Present, but of the Future. You shall have to wait for my brethren to answer those."

The spirit returned him to his bedroom.

Despite every reason to, he didn't touch a drop of alcohol. A father? He wasn't even an adult yet himself. How could he raise a child? Was this the marriage Avaric had been pushing him toward?

His future was slipping through his fingers.

The curtains hung dark around him. He didn't sleep this time. Didn't pass the day in a haze or drunken stupor. No, he sat, in his darkened room, with his darkened thoughts, and for once, really considered the impact of his life.

It was bleak indeed.

When the bell struck twelve, he stood. "I'm ready, Spirit. Show me the Future."


	5. Stave Four

AN: Merry Christmas! Thanks for reading, and have a great holiday!

Stave Four:

The Last of the Spirits

A dark figure stood before Fiyero. The hooded Phantom glided toward him, its grave silence shrouding it as effectively as its bleak garment. The now familiar mist hung low around him, without need to call it forth. Its chill even icier, he shivered.

"Are you the Ghost of Lurlinemas Future?"

The figure did not reply.

"Lead on. Show me your ghastly sights. I'm ready for this to be ended."

The Ghost loomed nearer, and he reflexively stepped back. With a steadying breath, Fiyero made himself meet it. "Shall I clasp your hand?" He didn't see one. "Or your robe?"

The Phantom only hovered here, a foot away. This close, he should be able to see some outline of the person below, some hint of an expression, but the darkness in its hood swallowed the mere hint of light. No eyes. No face. Not the slightest human form.

Fiyero struggled not to move back. His heart pounded, seeming louder in the utter silence. Still the Ghost did not reply. With a shaking hand, Fiyero clasped the edge of the robe.

He half-expected it to attack him at the touch, or to drop dead, but nothing happened. After a breath, it moved toward him, and he scrambled back, dropping the cloth and tripping over the excess at his feet.

He curled up instinctively, and the Phantom towered over him. He shut his eyes tight. Any second, he'd breath his last.

His eyes flew open at a cool, clammy touch, but the Phantom stood still. The touch was his own, his arm blocking his face. Embarrassed, he stood.

Two women sat before him, knitting and nattering. "Pfannee? And Shenshen?" They hadn't aged well, with lines and wrinkles poorly hidden in too bright bonnets with feathers to rival a peacock. "I've no interest in their fashion or their future. Can't we find the girl? Is she raising my child? Am I a good father?"

The Phantom turned its impenetrable face to him.

He cleared his throat. "Yes, of course. You know best. Lead on, and I'll follow."

"Will you attend?" Shenshen asked, ever the follower. "The funeral's today."

"No, of course not." Pfannee tucked a quick stitch with head high. "No one mourns the wicked."

He winced. Some part of him expected this, but to hear it discussed so coldly… Certainly he'd been wicked at times, but their vitriol surprised him. He didn't even remember sleeping with these two.

"Glinda will, no doubt." Odd. They'd gotten her name wrong. They must be older than they seemed.

"Yes, she would, of course. She'd have to, but she might be alone."

"I'll go, perhaps, if there's lunch provided. It shouldn't be a long one. Not much to say." They shared a look, and Shenshen giggled. "Perhaps I'll even inherit something. As little as anyone cares, I'm sure they'll be passing out the furniture on the lawn."

"That's disgraceful!" Fiyero felt odd agreeing with Pfannee about anything. But she quickly followed it with, "You don't want anything from that house. Think of the karma."

The Phantom glided on, and he reluctantly followed. "A happy bunch. Thanks for easing me in so gently."

It ignored his sarcasm. Darkness fell around them.

When he could see again, he sighed in relief. Galinda, older but still graced with a broad smile. Little ones played at her feet, and he wondered if maybe they'd married after all. He studied the boys' faces for a hint of his own.

"Come here, dearests. It's time for presents!"

They scampered forward, a bumbling mass of giggles and curls and shredded wrapping paper. The utter joy made such a contrast to the last scene, he wanted to curl up by the fire and bask in its warmth. He prayed this was his future, and somehow not the other. A choice, perhaps?

"I already said I would marry her. You can skip this heavy-handed persuasion."

"Mama! It's a train!" The little boy clambered into her lap, and Galinda beamed down at him.

"It is, little one. Do you like it?"

"Oh, yes!"

He smiled in return though the sweet tot couldn't see it. Perhaps he'd been looking at this pregnancy thing the wrong way. Children could be lovely. Not that he wanted them now, per se. But they had their charms.

"Mama, have you always loved Daddy?"

"Silly. She couldn't love him before she met him." The little girl swung her dolly with a giddy whirl. "She loved a prince. She told me."

"You could've been a princess?"

Galinda smiled. "Perhaps. But I loved your Daddy." So not his. The disappointment surprised him. "I wish I had loved him always. We'd have had more time together."

"You're still a princess, Mommy." The older boy twisted the wreath off the wall and set it on the blonde's head. He clapped his hands together, and his sister shoved his arm.

"She's not a princess. She's a queen."

"She's not either." The little boy rubbed a chubby hand over her cheek. "She's a mommy."

Galinda chuckled at her children's antics. "Oh, you won't flatter your way to more cookies. I know all the tricks." She did, at that. He'd certainly plied his share. She pressed a kiss to her son's head and set him down. "Go on and play with your toys."

"Who's their father?" The Phantom remained as silent as ever. "He's a lucky man."

She set out their dinner with a fifth plate, and called them to eat. They bowed in prayer. "Dear Lurline, thank you for this feast, and please be with our dear Daddy wherever he is. Bless us and keep us ever in your care."

"Amen." A trio of little voices answered.

They dug into the food, but Galinda waited, her eyes on the empty plate with a soft expression.

Fiyero winced. The funeral, was it…for her husband?

No, she didn't deserve that. She deserved a happy life with these beautiful bouncing babies. Not that he wanted to fill that void for her himself, exactly.

But he wanted her to be happy.

The door opened, and Boq strode through. Fiyero blinked stupidly as the children chorused, "Daddy!" He waved merrily and unwound his scarf.

"Merry Lurlinemas, all. Sorry, work went long."

"You work too hard," Galinda chastised, and he dipped to kiss her gently.

He sat in his place at the head and scooped a healthy helping of scalloped potatoes. "This looks lovely, dear. You always do so much with so little."

"No, it's that so little matters when I have so much already."

Their affection grew more demonstrative, and Fiyero couldn't resist rolling his eyes at their obvious adoration. He didn't fault them. They hardly knew about his intrusion to spare him the sight.

"The children opened gifts already."

"Daddy, I got a train!"

Galinda set her hand on his. "It's very well-made." They shared the secret smile of parents everywhere, knowing the gift had been his own handiwork.

The little girl hopped down and fetched her doll. "Look, I've named her Ellie, like Mama's friend."

"Elphie," she corrected automatically, and frowned. "Get her out of the dressing, dear."

"Can I paint her green?"

Fiyero chuckled. She'd be a spitfire, that one. He didn't envy them the job of raising her.

"Do you miss your prince, Mommy?"

She met her husband's eyes and grinned. "Not at all. He was charming, but every minute without Daddy was a minute wasted."

Oz, the sweetness between them threatened a toothache. It was sickening, and yet, oddly endearing. Like seeing his grandparents kiss more than seeing his ex-girlfriend moving on.

The Phantom moved forward, and he started. He'd almost forgotten its shadowy presence in this bright, warm home. "Can't we stay a bit longer?" No doubt more horrors awaited him, and he much preferred this slight glimmer of hope.

It showed him as much attention as he might a flea.

He sighed and trailed after. When he reached the hem of its cloak, darkness fell over them again. A sharp chill wind cut through the space around him, and he drew a ragged breath. Blinded and freezing, he counted heartbeats until the journey ended.

"Are we to see my child, now? This pregnancy the last spirit hinted at, but left for you?"

A dismal scene faded into view. Shadowy crosses and wilted lilies dotted the landscape. A graveyard, choked with weeds and bereft of care. Why here? No, he knew. But for his child, or himself?

"Are we to see whose funeral they discussed?"

No answer.

Oz, could he face his own grave? And what might the Phantom do if he resisted? The idea of the Ghost laying hands on him, if hands it even had, struck fear deep into his soul.

It drifted through the tombstones, and dreading each step, he dogged behind. "Can you not speak at all to me, Spirit?" Nothing could be worse than this silence. Even the awful, unearthly rasp that this specter surely possessed would be better than this endless deafness.

When at last it stood still, he took a trembling breath. No, this was worse. The moment swelled around him, clear in its import. He drew a steadying breath. The stone loomed, large and dark. A step, and it would be clear.

But he couldn't take it. Wouldn't.

"Spirit, please. I have learnt my lesson. Can we not return now?"

It gestured toward the stone, a billow of cloth more than a movement of man below. He shuddered.

"I needn't look to know whose name lies there upon. I swear, I feel the lesson and its message working. Let me leave."

It gestured again, more compelling.

"Spirit-" he began, and the Ghost swelled in size. He dare not finished the third plea. He trudged a heavy step forward, a toe closer to the grave. Another. The shadows shifted, but the writing was too dim to read.

He forced himself nearer, but still, the print blurred. A figment of the Phantom, no doubt. Perhaps his punishment for resistance. Or just a boy's desire not to confront his own mortality.

He trudged an arm's length away. The yawning mouth of the grave crumbled by his toes as he wiped a hand over the cold stone.

The name staggered him such that he fell back on his heels. The dirt skittered, but luckily held his weight. "Elphaba Thropp?" he read, tracing the letters. "Why bring me here?"

The Spirit waited.

He eyed the tombstone, expecting relief at not seeing his name, but his stomach still clenched. The tiny church house door opened to show Galinda clutching Boq's hand. Tears traced her cheeks, bright and sorrowful. She turned into his shoulder, and he led her away.

Fiyero waited for the rest. But none came. "Her sister? Father? No others?"

The simple coffin came, born by four strangers. They joked and laughed as they lowered it, as one might when taking out the trash from a party.

Alone, they lowered Elphaba into the ground. It wasn't right. She didn't deserve this. He reached a hand toward her, but they began shoveling dirt atop the coffin. "Is it really her?"

At the silence, he threw himself to his feet.

"Answer me! Is it her? What did she do to earn this? She's no philanderer. Nor wicked, at all. She's…abrupt, but who could fault her?"

The Phantom stared from its recesses without response, and he flung a curse at it.

"What good are you? You've no answers for me? Go on, then. Leave me here. Go! Or speak! But don't leave me in this insufferable silence."

It might have been stone.

"Shall I go to join her? Is that the goal? Oz, why would I live and not her?" He knelt by the pile of dirt, now complete. He didn't understand. Why show him this? What was he supposed to know? He gouged both hands through his hair. "What good are you, if you'll not guide me? Have you left me to sift for answers, myself? Don't you know I'm brainless? I can't reason a History exam. Let alone this."

Had she suffered? He could bear it if she'd suffered. Why was he so unsettled by her death? She shouldn't have to die.

"Bring her back. Let me go in her place." He jolted at the words. But he meant them, somehow. It was only right. "She is brilliant. She would change the world for the better. Not like me." All he did was take. He was empty. A booze-soaked piece of meat, easily replaced. No loss at all. She? She was a vibrant bursting of life too passionate to be contained in one vessel. A beautiful-

And at once, he realized why he felt so strongly. He loved her. So simple an answer to the dilemma they'd riddled him. Not desired her, as he'd believed. Not enjoyed the challenge of her. Loved her. He'd never even kissed her, yet he knew at once it for truth.

"Let it be me, instead."

As he spoke the words, an essence rose from the grave, silvery and sparkling. Her soul, perhaps, and for a moment, it formed into her figure.

"Yero," she spoke, a hand held out. He reached for her, and fell through. The mist of her dissipated, and the inertia carried him into the Phantom. He fell slowly enough to fear the result, but unable to prevent it. Helpless, he watched himself teeter into the terrible darkness.

He slammed into the figure, and it flapped flat. He landed sprawled over the empty cloth on the ground. The wind howled in force, throwing the shroud around him. He swatted at it, tried to free it from his face. With no success. It swaddled him, strangled him, swallowed him in its darkness.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't free himself.

The Ghost had taken his pact.


	6. Stave Five

AN: I had intended to end at Christmas, but since I had to split up the Past, it went a day long. Thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoy the ending.

Stave Five:

The End of It

Fiyero flung his arms wildly, flailing toward freedom. And then he was falling, falling, falling.

He smashed into the ground with a dull thud. He scrambled from the specter's shroud, but it lay there, a simple sheet innocently tangled at the foot of his bed.

He stared at it a moment. His bed. He was at home. He wasn't dead after all. The clock chimed seven, and he gazed at the morning sun with wonder. A new day. A new day to make of it as he willed.

He leapt to his feet. "I will find a new Future, Spirits. Bless you for the chance."

A sheen of sweat coated his face, and as he went to wash it, he looked at the mirror.

For once, he didn't see the charming face that had wooed so many women. He saw a boy, one with time to make amends. The dirt speckled there twisted his stomach.

The grave. It had been real.

He spared time to shower only because he knew her scorn if he did not. But he wasted no time on artful enhancements. For once his hair could stand not to be carefully careless. It could settle for messy today, and he didn't give a fig if it did.

He raced toward her dorm, but halfway there he slowed. The train. She'd gone already.

Well, he'd just go and find her. It couldn't be that hard. Munchkinland wasn't exactly awash in palaces.

"Merry Lurlinemas," a girl offered, and he seized her hand with a wild expression.

"Is it? Is it Lurlinemas, still?"

She leaned back with a wary expression. "Yes."

His laugh burst out without containment. "It is. It's Lurlinemas!"

"Are you well?"

"Yes!" He leapt back, and waved. "Oh, very, very well. If it's Lurlinemas, it's not too late. Not too late by far."

She took a careful step back. "That's good, then."

"Merry Lurlinemas." He pulled her to him and kissed her cheek. Then the other. "Merry Lurlinemas indeed. Merry Lurlinemas to us all!" By his ending yell, he'd attracted quite a few stares, but he cared not.

He raced toward her dorm, only the remains of his male pride keeping him from skipping. He leapt up the stairs, calling "Merry Lurlinemas" to all he passed.

He beamed a wide, ridiculous smile and rapped repeatedly on the door.

Galinda opened it, looking so young that he couldn't resist cupping her cheek. "Oh, hello dearest, are you alright? You gave us a fright, pounding so."

"I'm well. You're well. All is well, it's Lurlinemas!" He smiled at her fondly. "You'll make such a lovely mother, you know."

"Oh…kay. Is there something I don't know?"

"Yes, quite. Let's break up."

She blinked, and her face fell. "Break up? What? Why?"

"I don't love you, of course. And you don't love me." The threat of tears gave him pause. "Why are you upset?"

She glared at him. "Why am I upset?!" She snapped her arms across her chest. "I don't understand. What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing." He shook his head. Then he slapped his temple. "Oh, right, you don't realize you love Boq yet. You do. You told him every minute without him was wasted, so you've already enough time to make up for without my wasting more."

"What are you going on about? Are you drunk?"

He boomed a laugh. "No, no, not this time. The only Spirits I'm drunk on are those of Lurlinemas Past, Present and Future. And Avaric, too, I suppose."

She shook her head, and called back, "Elphaba, I need your help. I think Fiyero's drunken himself insane somehow."

"Yes! Elphaba! She's here?" He pushed past Galinda to see her roommate rising from her desk. In two strides he crossed the room to pull her to him. He crushed his lips to hers in a blistering kiss.

Smack!

The slap took him so off-guard, he didn't realize at first what had happened.

"What is the matter with you? Get off me!"

He pressed a hand to his cheek, wounded by the unexpected rejection.

"Oz, did you get lost on the way to Galinda's lips? It's not that hard to tell us apart."

"No, I broke up with Galinda. I love you."

She narrowed her eyes, and by then, her roommate had caught up. "You see what I mean? Is he high?"

"I'm not."

They shared a look.

"I'm not!"

Elphaba lifted an eyebrow. "But you broke up with Galinda."

"I had to. It was only right. Boq will make her happier anyway."

"And you kissed me…on purpose."

He tilted his head, "Fabala, you mustn't start this. You deserve to be happy, you know."

"What did you call me?" She advanced on him, and he held up his hands.

"Fabala. Isn't that your nickname?"

"Not to you. When did you hear it?"

He sagged back. "That's quite a story. Trust me." He took her hand. "But I know now that you're the one for me." He dropped to his knee. "Elphaba Thropp, will you marry me?"

"Are you completely daft?"

"So is that a yes, or...?"

She flung up her hands. "Do something with your boyfriend."

"I'm not her boyfriend."

Both girls glared at him.

"Okay, well, I should probably try to find the mother of my child first, anyway. She deserves to know why I'm marrying you instead."

"You're not marrying me," Elphaba snapped at the same time Galinda cried, "Mother of…You've cheated on me?"

"I didn't really accept that we were dating. You actually decided I was your boyfriend without any input from me." The glares intensified. "And by that I mean, yes, I'm a terrible boyfriend. Breaking up seem better now?"

Elphaba clenched her fist as Galinda's eyes watered.

"Oz, woman, what do you want? I was a despicable human being. I drank myself into oblivion to hide from reality, and cut myself off from anything redeeming. I can't imagine why you would want me, anyway." He turned to Elphaba. "But I'm not that person anymore. I've changed. For good."

"You should leave now."

He sighed. "Fine. I'll be back, though. I'll prove it to you."

He really should find the other girl anyway, and try to make amends for his terrible treatment. But how? He couldn't exactly take out a personal ad. "Seeking mother of my future child. Please send a forwarding address so I might apologize."

Perhaps he could retrace his steps, and try to find the bar where they'd met. The impossibility of the task threatened to overwhelm his newfound optimism, but he pushed on.

xxXxx

It took several days, but eventually he found a friend of a friend that remembered her. She had gone home for the holidays, as had the others, so he sank himself into sobriety.

He threw out his bottles. He threw out his black books. He threw out his cocktail napkins with phone numbers in little lipstick hearts that were virtually unreadable anyway. And with each piece he cleared, he felt lighter and lighter.

By the time the girls returned, he had grown a real conscience. Terribly fragile and new, but his own just the same. He tracked down the girl, Trynka, and waited for her outside her door.

"Hi, remember me?"

She frowned, key already in the lock. "What do you want?"

"How's the baby?"

Her face paled. She turned to him with wide eyes. "The…what baby?"

"Perhaps I should come in."

She stepped back, and they went in the small room. He sat by her desk as she paced. "How did you know? Who else knows? Oz, my life is over."

"It's not." He took her hand. "I'll be here, each step of the way. For you, and him…or her."

Trynka shot him a look. "It's not yours."

He fell back, eyes wide. "Wait, what?"

"It's Sven's. You were just a one-night stand, way too late in my monthly…you know."

"I see." He drew a deep breath. Good news for him, but it did little to help her. "And Sven isn't around?"

She shrugged. Her eyes found her hands. "I haven't exactly told him, but I doubt he will be. We're too young for this."

Fiyero lifted her chin. "You didn't make the baby on your own, and it isn't yours to deal with on your own either. If he won't be there, I still will be." He cleared his throat. "As a friend, of course, but I mean that. A friend. A call-me-at-two-in-the-morning friend."

"You would do that?"

He nodded. She flung her arms around him.

"Why? I mean, thank you, but why?"

"Let's say I've done my share of stupid decisions. They didn't ruin my life, and they shouldn't ruin yours."

She smiled. "You're, uh," her eyes fell to his lips. "Set on the friends? I could at least make it worth your while."

"I recently discovered that I'm more the one-woman man, one particular woman."

"Ah." She kissed his cheek. "Lucky for her."

He thought so, but Elphaba didn't seem to agree. Galinda eventually forgave him, though she steadfastly refused that she'd never have any interest in Boq. He always had to fight a smirk. If only she could see herself later…

But Elphaba refused to fall for his charms. The Spirits needed to visit her. He wasn't making much progress.

Even as he thought it, he took it back. He didn't want that nightmare anywhere close to her. He dropped into the seat beside her, and she scowled. "Go away."

"Admit you love me."

"You're delusional."

He rolled his head to look at her. "Fine, I'll admit I'm deluded to think you might have feelings for me, if you admit you're deluded to think you couldn't possibly."

"Arrogant."

"Yes, but accurate." He flashed a grin. "Come on. You don't like flowers, won't take jewelry, and threaten to punch me if I dare compliment you. How am I supposed to prove my affection?"

She shrugged. "You can't. Give up."

And face that grave someday? No chance. "Sooner or later, I'll get through to you. I won't give up just because it's difficult."

"Tell that to your homework." She patted his cheek. "Somehow, I'm not worried."

"Lasted over a month, haven't I?"

The professor walked in, and she jumped at the opportunity to ignore him. He leaned over, and she hissed, "Sh."

"Okay, can I just say one more thing?"

"The odds are not in your favor, no."

He smirked and leaned in. "You could have just walked away, you know."

"From you? I've tried. Repeatedly. You're like gum stuck to my shoe. I can't scrape myself free."

He draped an arm over her shoulders. "Or maybe part of you acknowledges that I've changed, and it's because of you."

"Unlikely."

He fished out a box. "Happy Nessa-mas."

He plunked it in her lap, and she held it up with a frown. "What is this?"

"I know you don't celebrate Lurlinemas, per se, but maybe you'd prefer the birth of someone you do believe in."

She rolled her eyes. "The presents are for her, idiot. It's her birthday."

"Yes, and on Lurline's birthday, we shower those we love with gifts of our affection."

"So you worship my sister, now?"

"Stop being so literal. Besides, we both know I've never been one to honor the rules."

She made a face. "That's the truth."

"Open it." For a moment he feared she wouldn't, but then she pulled on the bow.

"Is it a book?"

He chuckled. "You have the library for books."

Her thumb slipped under the paper, and she pulled it free. "Jewelry, ugh, or perfume?"

"I know you better than that." He nodded toward the lid. "Open it, and you'll see."

A train ticket. Open-ended, and round-trip to the Emerald City.

Her eyes met his, full of questions. "You shouldn't have to wait to live out your dreams."

He could see the impact on her face, but she didn't say anything. She stared at the ticket.

"Elphaba!" Galinda ran in, ignoring the stares from the professor and students. "Thank Oz, there you are. Come quick. It's your sister."

They leapt to their feet at her urgency. Galinda saw him, and clasped his arm.

"Oh, Oz. Please hurry."

They raced after her past the building to the bridge a stone's throw behind. The bridge to Suicide Canal.

Galinda's voice shook. "She fell. I didn't know what to do."

The empty chair tipped on its side by the narrow gorge made his heart stop. He could only imagine how Elphaba felt. He clamboured over the fence, but when Elphaba moved to follow he stopped her. "No, you'll help better here. Galinda can't lift her by herself."

The girl lay prone by the rocks, her eyes closed. He half-slid toward her, raining a fresh shower of gravel with his descent. He knelt beside Nessa and felt for a pulse. There. Steady. She shifted at his touch.

"Fiyero?"

"Sh. Your sister's up there. We'll get you up."

"It's my birthday," she said, eyes closing again. "I wanted to see the deer."

"Have you broken anything?"

She looked herself over. "I…I don't think so."

He checked, too, just to be safe, and scooped her into his arms. "Can you hang on to me?"

She bit her lip, and nodded. Unconvinced, he considered how else he could get them up. If she hung on his back, and lost her grip, she'd be in worse shape. But he couldn't manage without his arms. He slipped off his shirt.

She flushed. "I hardly think this is the time. Besides, I'm seeing Boq."

"That's alright, I love your sister. Grab my neck."

She did so, and he positioned her inert legs around his waist. She couldn't use the muscles to hold on, but he could tie her that way with his shirt. It wouldn't stop her fall, but it should buy him the time to grab her.

He started up. With her against his side, he could only use one arm to pull them up. The strain in the humid air brought sweat that trickled in his eyes before he managed half the distance.

Luckily, it wasn't too far. Elphaba teetered over the edge, arms outstretched. He hauled himself up until she could grip her sister's arms. She pulled, and the shift in weight knocked him flat into the stone. He clung to the rock, refusing to slide, and his biceps locked with the effort. He would be sore tomorrow, for sure. And scraped raw by the rocks.

Galinda rushed to help, and her hands fumbled to untie his shirt.

"Any chance you two could trade jobs?"

They ignored him and hauled the girl up. He drug himself the rest of the way over the cliff and sunk, panting, into the grass. "She alright?"

Galinda nodded, but Elphaba stormed toward him, fire in her eyes.

He held up both hands. "I know, I'm sorry. You're just as capable as anyone-"

She flung her arms around him and met him in a wild kiss. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed back with all he could. After a second, she pulled back. "Oh, Oz, I actually did that, didn't I?"

He smiled. "Afraid so."

"They're still here aren't there?"

"Regrettably, yes."

"And you're obviously still here."

"That I am. And very grateful to be."

She stepped back and straightened her blouse. With more dignity that she must have felt, she said, "Thank you for helping my sister."

"Any time." He grinned. "Want me to throw her back over so you can kiss me again?"

She glared at him.

"Just kidding." Mostly. No, definitely. But that kiss…

Their relationship didn't change over night, but slowly, gradually, she learned that he really did love her. And he learned that sex wasn't everything. That he could be a better person than he believed of himself. When they married years later, it was not as facades, or victims, but as two adults, healed and mature.

Many years later, as the spirit of Lurlinemas hung heavy in the air, he wrapped an arm around his beautiful wife and knocked on a familiar door.

"One moment," Glinda called, and the door cracked open to reveal a pint-sized Boq with wild blond curls. "We were just opening presents."

"I got a train," the little boy announced happily. "Wanna see?"

"Course." He led them inside, where the other children bounced happily for their own parcels. As always, when he spied the fourth baby-Glinda, his heart swelled with gratitude to the Spirits. They'd given him his wife, and they'd let him give his friends a few extra years.

Elphaba sat beside Glinda, a bundle of her own in her hands. "Aw, she's beautiful."

"Isn't she?"

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "How could she not be, with us for parents?"

That earned him a look from both women, but he hadn't time to consider it. Not when accosted by four very adorable little curly-haired moppets.

"You dare attack me?" He launched at them, catching the youngest around the stomach. "They will be repercussions!"

He tickled whoever fell in his reach as they took turns piling on top of them. One of the tackles caught him in an unfortunate place, and he rolled on his back.

"Uncle! Uncle!"

"Uncle Yero!" The kids chorused, crawling over him for hugs. He obliged, pressing kisses to their crowns.

"Merry Lurlinemas, little ones. Let me up." They played into the evening, and enjoyed a wonderful meal once Boq arrived. At the toast, he couldn't help but remember how much his life had changed, all those years past.

"To those who came before, and to those that come after. But most of all, to those here with us now."

A little voice piped up, "Oz bless us, every one." She nodded, her little curls bouncing solemnly, and he laughed.

"Quite. Merry Lurlinemas to all."

"And to all a goodnight," Glinda added, and a chorus of complaints went up.

"Ah, Mama!"

"Sh. Go on now. Get to bed."

Fiyero stood and slipped an arm around Elphaba's waist. "Well, that's a little presumptuous, but if you say so. Happy to do it." He winked, and earned himself an elbow in the side.

"You'll never change, will you?"

Elphaba looked up at him. "I think he's done enough of that already."

The End


End file.
